


our big dreams, how we plan

by avioletqueen



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, References to Drugs, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:04:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6040975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avioletqueen/pseuds/avioletqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After a long winter break of arguing with her mother over her major and missing her friends terribly, Clarke’s back at school, and ready to get back to the blessed normality of daily life."</p><p>If only it wasn’t Bellamy Blake’s intention to get in the way of that normality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	our big dreams, how we plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacecleavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacecleavage/gifts).



> title from "here" by alessia cara.

_Hapsis University: a picturesque institution in western Virginia, sprawling by private college standards with 8,000 students living on campus. Between having top-notch engineering programs and offering some of the most sought-after degrees in their school of liberal arts, Hapsis is a place where brilliant minds excel. The student population is friendly, supportive of each other, cooperative rather than competitive for the most part. In other words, Hapsis University is a place where stories begin, where lifelong friendships start to form._

Clarke had never thought the words from the brochure would’ve applied to her. After all, she chose Hapsis for its U.S. News ranking, not for the social scene. But that was then, and this is now. Now, she’s here, in the spring of her junior year, slipping into her designated spot at one of the rowdiest tables in the campus pub and passing out the milkshakes in her arms to all the people sitting around her.

Despite being under the drinking age until Lincoln and Bellamy turned 21, the group of friends has tended to hang out in their university’s pub since they first formed, taking the treasured table near the fireplace almost immediately after classes to claim the spot as theirs. Sure, they get dirty looks from everyone (especially the seniors, who find the very idea of underclassmen getting preferred seating as ridiculous), but it’s what they’ve grown used to doing. And now, after a long winter break of arguing with her mother over her major and missing her friends terribly, Clarke’s back, and ready to get back to the blessed normality of daily school life.

There’s quiet right now, as everyone eagerly takes their first sip of the Pub’s famous milkshakes for this year. And so, Clarke just looks around the table, taking in everyone’s faces after weeks of not having seen them. To her left, Monty fiddles with his straw wrapper, his elbow nudging against Miller’s, who’s darker than ever from his fall semester abroad. Octavia and Lincoln sit on either side of Bellamy, as if he can stop them from running off together after dinner. Wells is already poring over his homework, with Raven making a to-do-list to her right. It’s cozier than it was last year - Jasper and Maya are studying overseas in Italy for the spring - but it feels right, all of them coming back together again like this.

“Wells, how the fuck do you already have readings to do?” Miller demands with a slight quirk to his lips, and Wells laughs softly, shaking his head. As the conversation begins, their voices overlap, Raven loudly comparing Wells eighteen hour schedule to a death wish while Lincoln asks to see the synopsis of the book, and Clarke happens to meet Bellamy’s eyes from directly across the table. His eyes sparkle as he mouths, “how were your holidays?” across the table to her, knowing that pleasantries aren’t exactly what their group is made for.

Clarke’s pulse trips a little as she mouths back, “terrible,” with an exaggerated eye roll, and it trips again when he laughs, shaking his head. A part of her, one that’s only recently shown itself, wants to keep talking with him, until her laughter makes his heart fail him as well.

Blessed normality, she reminds herself firmly, and she looks away, taking a sip of her milkshake instead.

—

The story of Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake isn’t that long. One upon a time, the two were both in the same political science seminar. Clarke was a bright eyed young freshman, excited to be getting he first taste of the real world after years of private boarding schools. Bellamy was more hardened. She didn’t know much about him, other than the fact that he was a year older than her, but the tension in his jaw and the way he held himself told the story of someone who had fought for everything he had in life. The other 13 people in their seminar never spoke once during the entire semester.

Class went like this: the professor would start on a discussion topic, Clarke and Bellamy would inevitably choose opposite sides of the argument, and a barely-polite debate on the issue would rage on for the next 45 minutes. They were both experts at backing up their points of view, pretty much equally matched, which meant that neither of them ever won.. They’d leave class scowling, unsatisfied, glaring at each other before going their own ways.

At least they both had gotten As.

Now, they’re both in the same friend group. Raven had met Monty in one of their required engineering courses, which meant that Clarke - and by extension, Wells - had been introduced to Jasper and Maya, his best friends who were dating, and Nathan, his boyfriend, who happened to be Bellamy’s best friend. Octavia, Bellamy’s little sister, and her senior boyfriend Lincoln had rounded out the group, and now, the ten are a familiar sight around campus. And though Clarke gets along well enough with all of them, lately, she’s started feeling like she might not get along with Bellamy as much as she’d like to. He doesn’t make it easy, though. Sure, they laugh about their one disastrous class together like it’s ancient history, but when it comes down to it, he avoids being alone in a room with her, and whenever they sit down to eat as a group, his seat is always as far away as possible from hers.

Maybe she’s overthinking it. And why should she? It makes no sense, really. She doesn’t know why she cares so much about what he thinks of her, why it bothers her that he might have a low opinion of her. Raven insists that it’s because she has a crush on him, but that’s impossible.

Surely that’s impossible.

“Wait, you _don’t_ have a crush on him?”

Clarke groans, slumping onto her arms as Monty blinks at her over his coffee. Quickly, he tries to rectify his mistake: “I just assumed… I mean, the way you two flirt all the time, I just thought–”

“We don’t flirt!” she protests, looking up at her friend. “And I don’t know if I like him.” Wait, what? “I mean- no, I don’t like him in that way at all! We don’t know each other well enough for that.”

“I hate to break it to you, Clarke, but you’ve been friends for over a year now. Closer to two.” Monty’s voice is gentle, but Clarke knows that somewhere, deep on the inside, he’s laughing at her. This boy is cruel like that.

“We’ve been in the same friend group. That’s totally different.” Clarke dismisses the idea with a wave of her hand, then takes a drink of her coffee.

“Of course,” Monty acquiesces, almost too easily, but he moves onto a new topic before Clarke has the chance to be suspicious. “Speaking of Bellamy, I saw something the other day that I think would be the perfect birthday present, but I wanted to get someone else’s opinion. It’s this box set of one of Ken Burns’ documentaries - The Roosevelts, I think?”

“Bad idea,” Clarke responds immediately, shaking her head. “It was terrible, apparently. Burns glossed over the people’s contributions to reform and made it all about FDR, and you know how Bellamy hates it when the upper classes are given all the glory. Plus, Burns apparently ignored some pretty bad stuff that FDR did - and anyway, Bellamy already streams all the documentaries on PBS whenever he can, so…” Clarke trails off when she realizes that Monty is full-on grinning at her. “What?”

“Oh, nothing,” he replies casually, even though it’s obviously something. After a couple of moments, he adds on, “just thinking about how little you know Bellamy.“

Clarke stiffens, and she can feel her cheeks go crimson as she pouts. “Shut up, Monty. You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah, maybe - but you love me for it.” He raises his cup to her, smiling widely before draining it. The problem with Monty Green is that he always means well, Clarke thinks sullenly to herself as she finishes her own drink. Which means that now, instead of getting to be sulky and ignore what he’s pointed out, she’s going to have to actually consider it.

And she’s going to, honestly. At her own pace, when she wants to, she’s going to sit down and think about whether the weird feeling she gets in her stomach and the heat that rolls under her skin when she talks to Bellamy means that she has a crush on him. Except her friends all suddenly seem to be in a hurry for her to consider it. Raven starts by pointing out how attractive they’d be together, and two weeks into the semester, Octavia drops by all the way from freshman campus to give her her blessing, whatever that means.

But she does have other things to do. As the publicity director of Flags, the LGBTQ group on campus, it falls to her to spearhead one of the most-loved traditions at Hapsis: the Mix-Up Ball, held yearly on Valentine’s Day as an opportunity for people of all walks of life to get together and celebrate each other. With its history of being one of the most supportive schools for the LGBTQ community, it’s no wonder that Hapsis publicizes the event to no end. Plus, there’s free food, professional photography, and an unnecessary amount of grinding on the dance floor, so it’s a draw for almost everyone on campus.

That being said, the weeks leading up to the event are getting busier and busier. Clarke is delegating - she swears she is - but getting everything organized for the event is still a nightmare, and while her executive board is generally helpful, with her president and vice at her side her at every turn, her treasurer leaves a lot to be desired.

“Roan, we’re not cancelling Mix-Up. There’ll be riots. Why does every conversation we have need to start and end like this?” Clarke demands, rolling her eyes expressively.

The boy across from her snorts, leaning back in his chair and looking supremely unconcerned. “Because it’s the most stupid, exclusionary tradition on this campus. No one who swings my way wants to celebrate on Valentine’s Day, of all days.”

Clarke grits her teeth, forcing herself to take several deep breaths before responding. When she does speak, it’s in a surprisingly even tone. “Look, I know you’re aro and ace. I get it. But Mix-Up has never been about love, okay? It’s about acceptance and friendship, and it’s happening no matter what, so if you’d stop fighting me, you wouldn’t have to hear me pester you about it so much.”

“Right, because just sitting back and letting things happen as always is how we bring about social change, right?” he fires back, and Clarke wants to groan out loud because it’s not like he’s wrong. Almost any other time, she’d be on his side, for crying out loud. But Mix-Up is something she cares about a lot, something that’s been entrusted to her, and she can’t let that go.

“I know that’s not how we do things usually. But Mix-Up is something that carries a lot of meaning for me and other people. Can’t you understand that?“

He emphatically can’t. And the worst part is that he’s just as stubborn as she is about letting this go. It’s another hour before Roan relents, and even then, he doesn’t verbally confirm that he’s going to buy what they need. Clarke’s just going to have to trust him to get the job done, and she hates having to put her trust in people who haven’t proven that they’ve earned it. By the time she gets back to her room, she just has to walk in the door and Raven’s getting up from her desk, concerned.

“Hey, babe, are you okay?” she asks. Clarke doesn’t respond, instead opting to drop her backpack on the floor and crumple on her bed. “Alright, I’m going to take that as a no.” Raven sits down next to her, holding out an arm, and Clarke sits up to lean heavily on her shoulder. “Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s Roan again,” she grumbles, the slightest bit of a whine in her voice. “As always. Nothing new there. He’s just being an asshole.”

“Fuck that guy,” Raven says with feeling, and Clarke can’t help letting out a little splutter of a laugh. “What? Can’t I cuss out some guy who’s giving you a hard time?“

“You don’t even know him, Raven,” Clarke admonishes, more laughter building up in her throat as she speaks, and Raven’s reaction - a look of utter confusion - just makes her even more amused.

“Since when do I have to know someone to hate their guts? Him giving you a hard time is reason enough for me,” Raven decides, squeezing Clarke even tighter into her side. “You know what’s a great way to get your mind off of something stupid like this?”

“Raven, I love you, but please don’t say a party. I can’t handle that right now. I’m not in the mood to dress up, and I’m pretty sure I’d just fall asleep in the punch.“

Raven lets out an impressive snort, rolling her eyes. “Jeeze, ye of little faith. I’ve been your friend for three years - I’d like to think I know who you are as a person. I was going to say we should watch stand-up comedy specials.” Clarke immediately perks up at that, and Raven laughs at her excited expression as she goes to retrieve her laptop. But before she opens it up, she points one finger at Clarke. “Don’t underestimate the cheering-up power of Raven Reyes, okay?”

“Never again,” Clarke says with a bright smile, reaching out to pull Raven down next to her. “I promise.“

—

As it gets to late January, the pressure doesn’t ease up - not even a little bit. On top of her schoolwork, Mix-Up, and the frustrating problem of Bellamy Blake, she also kind of needs a job. She’s a junior in college, and as a double major in public policy and biology, with her mother pulling her in one direction and her heart pulling her in another, finding an internship for the summer has been the furthest thing from easy. She’s heading for an interview at the career center now, swerving around a swarm of freshmen girls traipsing off to their sorority rush events and determinedly not making eye contact with some organization or another looking for people to subscribe to their club newsletter.

On days like this, as much as Clarke loves Hapsis, she needs to know that there’s a life waiting for her outside of it as well, that she’s not stuck in the bubble of this campus for the rest of her life. Ostensibly, that’s what this interview is supposed to get her. If she’s lucky.

That’s what’s on her mind right before she rounds the corner and crashes into someone carrying several packages. Her own bag falls to the ground along with the cardboard boxes, and she yelps, immediately bending down to pick them up.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to run into you like that,” she says in a rush, her cheeks starting to turn red. “I really wasn’t paying attention, I’ve got a lot on my mind today.”

“It’s alright, princess.” Clarke jumps, looking up in shock, and is met with Bellamy’s 100-watt smile. He’s wearing glasses today, and he’s got a serious case of bedhead, and Clarke hates herself for wanting to run her fingers through his messy locks.

She forces the thought out of her mind as best as she can and teases, “Oh, it’s just you? I take my apology back, then.” The flippancy of her statement doesn’t come across so well, considering her cheeks are still burning.

“That’s rude of you,” he chides, but he crouches down to help her as well. Once their belongings are all back in their arms, Bellamy nods down to her feet as they begin to walk together. “Of course you fell - you’re wearing heels. You never do that. What are you all dressed up for?“

“I’ve got an interview,” she replies, trying to smile at the thought, though she feels it’s coming across more as baring her teeth. She knows she’s good when it comes to making impressions, but the lead-up is always nerve-wracking. She can feel each individual butterfly in her stomach as she walks.

Bellamy must notice, because he points out gently, “you’re going to do great. If they don’t want someone as qualified as you, they’re idiots.”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Hired Since Last Summer,” she retorts, raising her eyebrows and trying not to be too pleased at his praise. Bellamy had landed a job at a historical review in the spring of his junior year, and he’d been set with a position there ever since.

Now, he laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, it’s the Hapsis effect. Employers love us. So you shouldn’t have any problems either, Ms. Straight-A, Brilliant, All-Around Overachiever.“

"You make me sound like such a catch. If only you could sell me to these HR reps.” Clarke pauses in front of the career center building, crossing her arms over her chest as she glances at the door warily.

“Hey, Clarke?” She presses her lips together firmly, trying to steel herself for the ordeal, then looks up at Bellamy. Her mind is so focused on what’s in front of her that it takes her by surprise, when Bellamy leans down to kiss her on the cheek. “I believe in you, alright? Good luck.”

It’s a good thing he walks away then, because she stands frozen outside the door for an embarrassingly long moment before heading in, a hand pressed almost absentmindedly to her face.

—

Of course, in the midst of all this, the onslaught hasn’t let up. Jasper and Maya have brought up Bellamy in one of their Skype calls, for god’s sake, and Wells would’ve spoken to her about it if she hadn’t given him a look that, according to him, rivaled his dad’s look of “I’m not mad, just disappointed”. When Miller shows up at her door one Friday night while Raven is out at a party, Clarke is beginning to think that her friends have set up a conspiracy of some sort.

“Did Monty send you here?” she asks bluntly when she sees him, instead of saying hi.

Miller doesn’t seem concerned. Instead, he lifts a shoulder and nods. “Yeah. He wants me to try and convince you that Bellamy’s really into you.” He lifts his hand, holding up a bottle of rum. “We could say fuck that and drink this instead, if you want.“

“This is why you’re my favorite,” Clarke says with a grin, opening the door wider to let him in and gesturing to her bed.

“Nah, man, we all know Jaha’s your favorite. But I’m happy to take second place.” He takes a couple red cups from the top of her fridge and fills them before handing one over.

Of course, these things can’t work out nicely for Clarke. When she finally gets a little tipsy, she finds that all she wants to talk about is this thing - whatever it is - with Bellamy. Every question she can think of sounds awkward in her head; she doesn’t actually want to ask Miller how Bellamy feels about her. That probably breaks all sorts of codes of friendship, after all.

After some pondering, and a third refill of her cup, she asks, “how did you and Monty get together?”

There’s something about the way that Miller’s entire expression softens that makes her just a little jealous. “I don’t know,” he says after a couple seconds, then lets out a little huff, his quiet version of laughter. “I guess that’s a weird answer. Truth is, Bellamy’s the one who kind of got us together. He knew Monty from some science class he took for a credit, and he introduced us. We started hanging out as a group, and then Monty would wanna show me a movie or something and we ended up hanging out alone too. And then we started making out, so we decided to go out.” He nods, then looks straight at Clarke. “Why d'you ask? Are you looking for something with someone?”

“I don’t know,” she responds, letting her shoulders droop as she lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know how I feel about Bellamy. Everyone’s really- really convinced that we should get together. I’m pretty sure that’s your boyfriend’s fault.”

“Yeah, I’d say that too.” He nudges her in the side. “But I don’t think you should listen to him. Or Reyes, or whoever. What do you actually want from the guy? Do you want anything?”

It’s a loaded question. Some days, she’s happy with what they have. On other days, days that are coming by more and more often, she wants an excuse to seek him out, to sit and talk with him, to tuck herself comfortably under his arm. She wants for all of that to be normal. But that’s hard to put into words, especially with three cups of rum in her. So instead, she says, “I don’t want something that’s going to end up hurting.”

It sounds cowardly, and she feels the urge to cringe after she says it, but Miller just nods seriously. “Fair. But I feel like that’s a conversation. Not just a choice you make for yourself without trying out that something. Whatever it might be.”

“A conversation. With him.” Clarke considers this, then lets her head drop onto Miller’s shoulder, thrusting her cup in his direction. “I can do that. Maybe. It’s probably work out. I…just refill.“

But a conversation is a lot less nerve-wracking than anything else she’d been considering. It’s almost a nice way to put it, and the more she considers it, even when drunkenly watching shitty TV with Miller, the more it feels like a good idea. But any plans she can think to make about approaching Bellamy are rudely interrupted one day in the first week of February.

“You what?” Clarke can hear how shrill her voice is, but she doesn’t give a fuck. Roan is leaning back in his chair, an unpleasant smirk on his face. It’s the kind of expression that someone wears after they’ve succeeded at doing something particularly cruel.

“I accidentally used Flags’ funds instead of my frat’s funds for a party.” Like that. Roan lifts his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Sorry.” There’s a distinct lack of any sort of apology in his voice, and Clarke is close to screaming.

“How could you? How could you be that stupid?” she demands, her temper rising with each passing moment as he doesn’t stop grinning.

“Clarke, don’t worry. We can just ask the frat for the money back,” Lexa says calmly, though her eyes betray how angry she is as well. Anya sits next to her, her lips set in a thin line, and Clarke’s glad that her president and vice president are backing her up.

She takes a couple deep breaths, then nods. “Right. Of course.” It’s not the end of the world. It’s an easy fix, really. "Which frat are you part of, Roan?”

“SAE,” Roan says easily, and Clarke nods again, before freezing. Because Roan’s still smiling in that nasty way, and SAE is familiar to everyone on campus in a notorious sort of way, and it takes a moment for her to put together why. But as soon as she realizes, she wants nothing more than to scream until her throat is raw.

—

“Clarke Griffin? Wanting to see me?” John Murphy, president of SAE, leans on the doorframe of his frat house, looking Clarke up and down with obvious contempt. "To what do I owe this honor?” he asks sarcastically, raising one eyebrow.

“This isn’t a social call, Murphy,” she says, with a little more acid than is entirely warranted. The sun is shining brightly over the campus, despite the chill of the day, and it’s entirely too nice of an afternoon to be spent here, doing this. But she can almost see Roan’s smirk swimming in front of her eyes (which is really just another sign that all of this is really getting to her), and she takes a breath to cool down. Getting too angry too fast certainly isn’t going to solve anything here. “I just need the money back.”

“What money?” he asks, glancing at his nails with a look that tells her he knows exactly what she’s talking about and is feigning ignorance for the hell of it.

She takes another breath, then continues firmly, “the money that SAE used for your party last weekend. The money that came from Flags’ account. We’re not going to be able to throw Mix-Up without it.”

“Wow, that’s tragic,” Murphy says, his voice thick with sarcasm as he raises his eyebrows, looking back up at Clarke. “But it really doesn’t sound like it’s my problem. Just cause your treasurer made a stupid mistake doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it.”

There’s something like desperation tugging at her heart. It might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he’s standing right in front of her, and he could help, if she can convince him to do so. “Look, I know you hate me because I ratted you out for pre-gaming our freshman year, but this is important to me, Murphy.” Clarke can hear that she’s almost begging, and she hates it more than anything.

“You didn’t just rat me out, Griffin,” Murphy spits. “That shit is on my record. I almost got expelled from this place. All my future employers are going to have to know that I made one dumb decision when I was eighteen, and I’m going to be judged for it for the rest of my life. That’s on you.“

"I’m sorry, okay? I swear I am.” The weird thing is, she’s actually earnest about this part. As much as she and Murphy have never gotten along, what happened their freshman year was an accident. She thought Murphy and his friends had just been drinking down the hall, and had wanted to get them in a bit of trouble. She’d had no idea that there’d been drugs involved until it was too late, and his so-called friends had already placed all the blame squarely on his shoulders. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones?”

“Right when you need me for something?” he scoffs. “Very funny, Griffin, but I don’t think so. You’re not getting your money.” And with that, he turns on his heel and slams the door behind him forcefully.

A part of her wants to rap on the door, demand that he come out again, plead for him to reconsider. But the majority of her knows that it’s a lost cause - that she waited too late to apologize, and he’ll never take her seriously, and the money’s gone forever. It actually hurts her heart, to process that all in her mind, and when she moves to leave the Greek row, there’s a heaviness in her step as she trudges back towards her dorm.

When she gets back to her floor, exhausted beyond reason, she hopes fervently that no one’s around. All she wants to do is sleep forever, so that she never has to face anyone and say the words out loud, admit that the Mix-Up is being cancelled and it’s her fault.

So of course, when she gets to her room, she sees Bellamy waiting outside her door, leaning casually against the wall and texting someone. She stops still when he looks up at her, and he frowns immediately, stuffing his phone in his pocket. “What’s wrong?“

Clarke inhales, her breath shuddering dangerously in her lungs, then shakes her head and tries for a smile. “It’s… I think we’re going to have to cancel Mix-Up,” she says, her voice small and weak, and she has to close her eyes hard to make sure she doesn’t actually cry.

Which means that she doesn’t realize what Bellamy’s doing until he’s already caught her up in a tight hug, arms wrapped protectively around her. She freezes for just a second, unsure of what to do, but his hold is somehow firm and gentle at the same time, and it doesn’t take long for her to lean in and cry into his chest.

“I- I tried so hard,” she says after a minute, and it sounds pathetic to her ears, but Bellamy clicks his tongue in such a sympathetic way that she can’t help letting the rest of the story out. “I tried, but Roan- the treasurer- he just fought with me for every step of it, and I should’ve tried harder. He- he gave our money to Murphy’s frat. We don’t have money for the Mix-Up anymore.” She takes in another shaky breath, then says in a rush, “we’re not going to have the Mix-Up this year, and it’s my fault. Everyone’s going to know.”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Bellamy murmurs, rubbing her back soothingly as she trails off. “It’s okay. You did try hard. And this isn’t all your fault. Don’t blame yourself.” He continues murmuring soft encouragements to her, the both of them standing in the hallway outside her door until her breathing starts to even out.

She doesn’t know how long it takes, but it’s been enough time that there’s a damp patch on his shirt when she pulls back, and she lets out a watery chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on - go inside and let Raven take care of you.” He nods towards her door with a small smile. “I’ll be back later, okay?”

She nods softly, and it only occurs to her later, after Raven and her have binged a season of Gilmore Girls and eaten way too many bags of snack food, that she doesn’t know what Bellamy was doing outside her door in the first place.

—

The knock at her door is jarring, and Clarke immediately checks the time, frowning to herself. It’s past one in the morning, way past the time for anyone to just be stopping by, and whoever’s there is interrupting her quality moping time with a pint of ice cream and Gossip Girl. But the person on the other side doesn’t let up, and she sighs loudly before pausing the video and calling out, “come in!“

The door cracks open, and to her surprise, it’s Lincoln who pops in. “Clarke,” he says in greeting, glancing around the room before looking back at her. “Raven’s looking for you.”

Her roommate had begged off watching TV a couple hours ago to go put together some sort of surprise, and Clarke has no doubt it’s some sort of scheme to cheer her up. She still feels hollowed out by the realization that Mix-Up isn’t going to happen, and informing Anya and Lexa of the news earlier didn’t help matters, despite how kind they’d been about it. Still, seeing that Raven has gone so far as to get Lincoln and the others involved brings a light smile to her face.

“Alright, I’m coming,” she says softly, getting out of her bed and tugging at her pajama shorts. “This better be worth getting out from under my covers for.” But Clarke smiles, so that he knows she’s kidding as she follows him out of her room to the elevator.

Lincoln just laughs. “Oh, I think it’ll definitely be worth it,” he says in a knowing way that has Clarke giving him a piercing look. He raises his hands in mock surrender, shaking his head. “I’m sworn to secrecy by two of the very powerful women in my life. You can’t get it out of me.”

After an exaggerated miming of zipping his lips, he doesn’t say anything more, and Clarke is burning up with curiosity by the time they reach the study room. She can see all of her friends inside, and without pause, she bursts straight into the room, asking, “alright, what are you all up to?“

The rest of the group falls silent in surprise, and that’s all the time Clarke needs to look at the whiteboard in the room. There’s a familiar list of organizations there, each with an amount of money next to their name. Wells is on the phone with someone, while Miller looks up from manning two different computers. And there, written across the board, is “A Real Mix-Up”.

“What’s… what’s going on?” Clarke asks, her pulse starting to speed up as she puts together what she’s seeing in front of her. “Is… what are you all…?”

“Mix-Up is happening, Clarke,” Octavia says with a wide smile, coming up to take one of her hands affectionately. “We’re all making it happen.“

Her heart jumps into her throat, and for a long moment, all she can do is clutch her shirt and stare as her friends give her supportive grins. “But- how, O?”

“Well, when Bell told me what happened, I mentioned how I would help out, if only my organization had enough money to help. Like, we have some left over, but not enough to fund all of Mix-Up, right? And then we realized that if we got a bunch of people to co-sponsor the event, we could all pool our funds and it’d work out. Plus, like, wouldn’t that make for an even better Mix-Up, for a ton of diverse organizations to be involved?” Octavia finally takes a breath, rocking back and forth on her heels, excitement filling her entire being. “Luckily, you have super-involved friends. So now we have, like, five more orgs involved, and Wells is calling the Cultural Organization Committee to see if they can do anything about it, and it’s going to be the best Mix-Up ever, and everyone’s going to know that you did it.”

By the time her explanation is over, Clarke is in tears again, and Octavia doesn’t hesitate before pulling her into a tight hug. Everyone else joins her, piling around Clarke until she’s laughing and crying at the same time, unable to believe just how lucky she is. It’s clear, after all, that no one else has better friends in the entire world. Not by a long shot.

And long after everyone else has let go, she holds onto Bellamy tightly, trying to put all the thanks and love she can’t say with words into this hug. She feels like he might get it, a little, because he doesn’t pull away from her either.

—

“So it all ended up well, didn’t it?” Wells asks a couple weeks later, handing her a glass of punch.

Clarke accepts it gratefully, looking around at the scene. The room they booked looks wonderful after all the decorations, and almost everyone is either letting loose on the dance floor or milling around in huddles of friends chattering together. Conversation and food is flowing freely, and even Roan is attending. Clarke could’ve sworn she saw him smiling at someone he was talking to, and she can’t help but beam, nodding. “It did. This is almost better than I could’ve ever imagined. And it’s all thanks to you all.”

“Hey. Mix-Up has been your baby since you first joined Flags freshman year. I know that better than anyone. I’d have done anything to keep it alive for you.” Wells is at once heartfelt and casual, as if he’s stating the obvious.

“I don’t deserve you, Wells Jaha,” Clarke replies just as genuinely, and he laughs it off, as if anyone could be as good of a best friend as he is.

Clarke’s phone buzzes on the table between them, and she jumps, looking down at it and remembering why she asked Wells to come sit away with her in a corner in the first place. Biting her lip, she frowns down at the email notification, then up at her best friend. He nods at her supportively, and she nods back before unlocking her phone and reading the email.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and she didn’t think she could smile any wider, but her cheeks are practically hurting as she gasps out, “I’m in. I got the job. They loved me. Oh my god.“

“See, I knew it.” Wells reaches out one hand, and she eagerly bumps fists with him before pulling him into a tight hug. He squeezes her close, and in this moment, it doesn’t feel like her life can get any better than this.

And then they pull away from each other, and Wells’ eyes move to glance over her shoulder. “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you at six o’clock,” he says in a hushed voice, and Clarke frowns before looking behind her.

Sure enough, Bellamy’s approaching, looking unfairly attractive in a button-up and a tie, and Clarke sighs before setting her drink down. “You can go tell Monty he’s won in five minutes, okay?” she tells her best friend before moving to approach Bellamy before he reaches her table. She can see in his eyes that he’s surprised, and she takes the opportunity to grab his hand and nod at the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

“I… right. Okay.” He nods, grinning a little as she pulls him out onto the dance floor. Neither of them are excellent dancers, but it’s fun, and they’re laughing, and in this moment, she realizes what she wants. She doesn’t want worrying about what they are, or worrying about their future, or anything in between. She just wants him.

So as a slower song comes on and she draws closer to him, she says, “please tell me that Monty has been bugging you to ask me out for the past month.”

The way Bellamy’s eyes widen is hilarious, really, and she laughs as he moves his hand to rest at the small of her back. “It’s… yeah. They’ve been talking to you too?”

“Yeah. Apparently, our friends really want us to be a thing, Blake.” Clarke smiles, not dancing as much as just swaying gently to the beat, fingers curling in Bellamy’s shirt.

“So I’ve figured,” he responds, a smile spreading onto his face as he ducks his head down a little, looking at her like he’s captivated. She likes that. She doesn’t want him to stop, ever. “Do you want to be a thing, Griffin?”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “You’re kind of a know-it-all sometimes, though. I don’t know if I can put up with that.”

“Oh, really? Where’s your evidence?” It’s almost like the times they argued back in that seminar, except now both of them are smiling too hard for there to be any heat behind their words.

“You kept on telling me I’d get that job and I ended up getting it. See? Know-it-all.”

“Damn, Griffin, you got me there.” Bellamy fakes a pout, simultaneously tugging her even closer. Her arms reach up to loop around his neck, and he presses his forehead to hers. “So I guess we’re not going to do this?”

“God, just kiss me, Bellamy.” And for once, when his lips press against hers, she’s not thinking about the future, or her to-do-list, or what everyone around her is thinking - even though she can hear whooping from their friends coming from somewhere in the room.

All she’s thinking about is this, here and now, the beginning of a story that holds such hopeful promise.


End file.
